Acclimation
by t.ranj
Summary: If there's one thing that my time on this earth has taught me, it's that everything comes with a price. AU/Twilight. EPOV/BPOV
1. Prologue: Relief

_**Just saying this one time for legality's sake…I don't own Twilight. **_

_**October 14th, 1994**_

_**Prologue - Relief**_

I was standing bare-legged in the cold, feeling the first icy mists of rain when the idea first struck me.

Leaves were blowing across the mostly empty parking lot. I watched them bouncing before me with the intensity that only small children can muster for such mundane things. They made an abrasive, urgent whispering sound as they danced across the pavement, like hurried Christmas shoppers. My loose hair was beginning to feel damp, even though I was standing under the tin awning that ran the length of the sidewalk. A young teacher I'd never seen before was standing a few yards further down the corridor, eyeing me with a mixture of unease and concern. It was the confused look in her eye that really stunned me, that caused the idea to rise in my conscious and pop like a soap bubble.

Maybe my mother isn't coming.

If I were a slightly older child, you might judge me for the feeling of relief that flooded my six year old body.

The entire night before, my mother had been chattering about the cruise she was taking, about how we were going straight to the mall 'to get a few things' after she picked me up. My father and I weren't going on the cruise; she told me proudly that it was really a work trip, but that we would all go together when I was older. She didn't really need to comfort me - her weeklong absence and my exclusion were also met with a hint of relief. Not even the huge red slide or the hysterically happy children on the brochure I found could outweigh the queasiness of being stranded on that huge floating city with her.

The pretty but harried-looking teacher and I were the only ones left on the sidewalk now. About an hour ago the area outside the gym had been teaming with the brays and absurdities of young children. The buses left quickly, like always, leaving packed parking lot behind. At first the lines of sedans and SUVs seemed endless, but by four o'clock cars were able to pull right up to the few remaining clusters of children. It was almost 4:30 now, and I was on the verge of turning to the young teacher for guidance - for assurance - when we were both distracted by Ms. Cope pushing through the gym doors.

She was a short round woman with a wide face that always seemed haughty behind the principal's reception desk. But the look on her face was very different now, and it finished the sentence that had started in the young teacher's eyes. Something was wrong. Something was different and urgent enough to change the routine that we all so strongly relied on. Ms. Cope spotted me almost instantly and quickened her already hasty pace. Her jaw was so tense that her lips had became thin pink lines. I turned to face her. Even at six I had a very stoic soul, the kind that only forms because of experience, and gives no consideration to age. As soon as she was within shouting distance I heard her say to me "Bella, darling, I think you should follow me inside."

I can remember every single thing about waiting outside for my mother's Expedition to pull up to the curb. Like a movie, I can slow it down and speed it up; I've never forgotten the look of vague worry on the pretty teacher's face, never mixed up the muted colors of the leaves which finally came to rest where the asphalt met the sidewalk. I've thought about it hundreds of times, I've told the story probably a dozen, and maybe that's the reason that I feel as if a small part of me will always stay underneath that cold awning, waiting on a woman that I'll never see again.

My photographic memory fails at this point though, and I remember much less about Ms. Cope leading me into the dark gym, mentioning that she had called my father and that he was coming for me. I recall that she didn't mention my mother and I remember how uneasy that made me feel. I calmed myself by thinking that she has probably decided to go to the mall without me. At least this situation seemed better than going to the mall, so I sit quietly. Even after Phil, my father, arrived and walked across the shiny-slick floor as he whispered with Ms. Cope, I sat in an orange plastic chair shoved up against the chilly wall, trying my best to be invisible.

I remember that for a very long time, I stared at my hands. My nails were short from constant chewing; the light pink polish was chipped mostly away. My mother had painted them a few days before, and any gratification she got from decorating them was answered by my eagerness to eat it away. My mother's nails, until the very end, were long and thick with product, always slick with polish. I didn't fight it when she began the manicures - although I think that given time and a little more age and I would have begun to - but it was clear that I didn't enjoy it. I sat rigid while she worked and wrinkled my nose at the sting of the acetone smell. But my mother painted my nails almost every week, especially on our special weekends, and I endured it because even at six years old I understood that some things are just not worth the fight.

After we left the gym we got into Phil's truck and rode in silence. I could tell that he was only silent on the outside - that inside his mind was chattering or maybe even screaming. I sat in the same way that I had waited in the gym, with my ankles crossed, head down, hands resting in my lap. Phil cleared his throat a few times, like he wanted to break the silence, but he never did. We rode all the way home in a strange tension that almost seemed to press in on us. Along the way he swerved in to the McDonald's, stopping abruptly in an empty handicap space. He remained silent as he pushed open his door and got out, but his brows were less furrowed when he got back in a few minutes later with a grease-stained bag. When we got home we ate in different rooms. Since my mother was not there, no one asked me if I had homework, and my book bag stayed hunched in the floorboard of Phil's truck. The evening drug by slowly and I spent it on pins and needles. I kept waiting on him to break this silence, to finalize what was happening, to make it relevant to me. At seven I began the trek to my room. As I climbed the stairs I finally heard Phil's voice, distant in the garage.

I would learn later that Phil had tried not to scare me. He later said that he waited to start the inevitable phone calls until I had gone to sleep - until he had given my mother every opportunity to come home. Maybe what he did was right, because when I retired to my small upstairs room, I was not scared.

Even with his silence, I had absorbed his mood while we rode inches apart in the truck and it would stick with me long after the chaos of the 'searching days' started. Phil and I were on the same wavelength from the very beginning of my mother's disappearance, for very similar reasons. Phil and I were both anxious, definitely shocked and overwhelmed, but as soon as there was hope that she wasn't coming back, we both felt mostly relief.

That was the last night of true sleep that I got for quite some time. After that night, it seemed like there were hundreds of bodies in the house all the time. Dozens of people, mostly relatives, were sleeping in the rooms, splayed on couches and hunched into pallets of blankets on the floor. The adults referred to the house as 'home base' in some strange attempt to rationalize what our small brick house had become. I had never slept well when surrounded by people, some subconscious manifestation of my fear of crowds. When mother and I went to the shows together, being backstage was the always the worst part.

But that night, alone in the house with Phil, I slept deeply. And even though the day of my mother's disappearance had been the most bizarre day of my life (and would hold that distinction for a full ten years – until my tragic sixteenth birthday) I slept like the dead and dreamt no dreams. When I awoke fully rested the next morning, I could still feel the tension sitting in the air like it had hung in the truck the day before.

But that night, I breathed deeper than my six year old lungs had breathed before, and I was filled with calm that I had no idea even existed in this world. It was my first taste of peace.

My first, cognizant moment of relief.


	2. Onset

_**Chapter One – Onset**_

The city was smaller than the ones I usually haunted, any other time I had visited this side of the world I hadn't ventured out onto the Peninsula at all, instead choosing to stick closer to the interstates – picking my way through Seattle before heading up to Vancouver.

The reason for my shift in pattern (and there's always a reason, for my kind, we don't adjust our routines or preferences often) was that my family did not share my dislike for small, sparse places. In fact, they had recently purchased a tract of land in just such a place and were planning on remaining there semi-permanently. Quite another feat for a clan of their size.

I didn't see my family often. It wasn't that I was unwelcome; in fact, my parents may have treated me closer to the likes of a prodigal son. I was my father's first creation, and he had been there for me through each of the hardest moments of my life. He was a good man – even with my curse I could find few faults with Carlisle. Even now the values that he'd instilled in me in the beginning of this life always weighed heavily in my selection of targets, even if they weren't always the only factors considered.

There were some areas where my father and I differed in opinion. But he loved me anyway and I think I loved him all the more, in light of his lofty ideals and faith in man – a faith that my gift ensured I'd never share.

We didn't speak often of our differences; we both knew that no lecture from the other could ever change either of us. We were alike in that way, steadfast and rigid in our beliefs. We respected each other's opinions enough to side-step our issues when possible, although we did debate the intricacies from time to time at our sporadic reunions.

You see, I've accepted what I am, although it took me almost forty years to truly let go of my humanity and embrace the purgatory I've been left in. My telepathy was even harder to accept - to master - but eventually I adapted and learned to control it. I didn't really have a choice, as the only other option was to let it continue to drive me mad.

With my curse come advantages. It makes me a better fighter, and it allows me to judge intentions better than anyone else that I know. More than that, I believe that with my curse comes responsibility. Carlisle and I can agree with each other up to this point – but it is in how I perform these responsibilities that our ethics diverge.

I choose my victims not based on their accessibility, or their appearance, or even their occupation or smell. I choose them based on the choices that they've made, I force them to answer for crimes and dole out their punishment that they know they deserve. I exhort force and violence on men who have used the same. I bring death to the murders, pain to the sadists. I use my curses to rid the earth of other cursed men.

This is the stage in our discussions that Carlisle always brings up two key possibilities, two of those lofty ideals that I just can't get behind, whether they are being applied to my kind or to my sustenance.

Redemption. Rehabilitation.

Two options that I do not offer my targets. Two ideals that he argues display mercy and integrity and justice. Two avenues that my own gift rarely give me an opportunity to see.

While his point is valid, my own rebuttal is always the same – why? Why offer them what they have not offered? Why should they have these chances after the crimes they have committed?

And so there lies bare the crux of our argument – there is where we always end up when we have these discussions. Any deeper reasoning is no longer reasoning really, but a reflection of our own perceptions of this world.

While I can't agree with my father (or the rest of my family, who follow my sire's teachings like good, little children, all in a row) I can respect his own decisions. And when I do breeze into his town for the occasional visit, I always make sure to sate my hunger for blood and justice before I make my appearance. I would never disrespect him by hunting in his territory.

All these things led me to stalk through the small city of Port Angeles, a quick sprint away from Carlisle's quaint hideaway – a rainy town with the bizarre name of Forks.

My timing was far from perfect, it was barely noon and my usual haunts of seedy bars and drug alleys were still empty for the most part. I decided to divvy out my justice on a new side of town that afternoon. Evil, while closer to the surface and easier to bury in the poor neighborhoods, thrives and grows just as well in the manicured lawns of the suburban upper class. The houses were spread further apart, so it takes longer to search out what I came for.

But eventually I found it, like I knew I would. The thoughts screaming at me from the shuttered gray home with the perfect yard were hard to miss once I dug past the cocaine haze they were encased in.

There were four people in the house – two innocents. Well…one innocent, and one man who's conscious teetered just this side of honorable and whom I immediately deemed as non-threatening as his thoughts centered mostly on escape. There was guilt too, and an unarticulated fear for the only woman in the room, the other victim and apparently the least involved in the terrifying situation.

The other two men's thoughts were almost giddy. They started out this meeting as invited guests in this well-kept home. While the male victim was afraid of the two drug dealers, he had let them in willingly, recognizing the taller of the two as his usual delivery man. He didn't recognize the shorter of the two visitors, although he should have. He had met him the first time in an illegal casino, where he'd taken out a loan that in his strung-out state, he'd thought he'd one day be able to repay.

The male victim had missed three payments, and his last installment had been substantially short. The two men planned to shorten his payment terms considerably this afternoon, and while they didn't really expect too much of a fight from him, they had came prepared regardless. They planned to shop around the beautiful house on the way out for jewelry and art to fence, but mostly they weren't interested in collection today, but punishment.

I listened to the movements and thoughts inside the house while the two thugs herded the man and the woman into the den. The taller of the two held on to the woman's arm tightly with one hand, the other held a knife to her back. She struggled at first but eventually just strained against her captures grip, trying to get a little distance between the sharp point of the knife and the small of her back. Her thoughts were so terrified they formed no words – just jumbled cries and flashes.

The two victims in the room complicated this capture for me. While this wasn't the first time I'd dealt with witnesses, I made it a habit to avoid the complications that came with them. However this time, I found myself willing to make an exception.

Sometimes I waited for the victim to lose consciousness. Other times, I brought their unconsciousness on myself, and so far I had been lucky that no victims had remembered me or at least didn't have clear enough memories of the event to pose as a threat of exposure.

"I think you've forgotten who I am." The shorter man said over his shoulder, almost conversationally as he walked in to the den behind the woman, the homeowner trailing behind them. He held his gun casually, occasionally pointing it at the woman or at the man's polo shirt. The male victim was trying to maintain his calm, but when he finally made the connection as to what this was about, his mind began to crumble and ice cold fear wrapped around him.

"I...I know who you are." He said finally. "I can get you more money – "

The gun fired, and the boom of the shot sounded in time with the shriek of the woman. A half a second later, the homeowner's mind comprehended the shattered kneecap he'd been left with, and he crumpled and let out a high-pitched yell of his own. The man with the gun rushed forward, grabbing the homeowner by the hair and bringing his face down to meet his knee. Finally the injured man's mind went black.

As he fell, the woman resumed her fight against the grip of her captor. Her brain played a veritable slide-show of the short, whirlwind romance between her and the man lying limply in the floor. She remembered playful wrestling in bed together; unchaste kisses snuck in each other's offices and heavy make out sessions against the side of his Porsche in the company garage.

The thug with the knife tightened his grip on her arm and brought the knife around to her front, running the blade across her jaw line and then down the front of her tearstained shirt. When his hand began to forcefully massage her shoulder she screeched again, a full octave higher than any of the other noises she'd made so far. Her squeal drew the attention of the shorter thug.

I decided then that I couldn't wait for the female to lose consciousness like I'd planned. Her mind was still fully functional, quite surprising considering what she'd seen in the past five minutes, and it would be a huge risk to reveal myself to her. However, I had a sinking feeling in my gut that she wouldn't be losing consciousness any time soon, and I couldn't very well sit back and watch this scene play out, so I made my move. Within seconds I was in the den with them all, they stared between me and the broken window that I came through dumbly.

I took down the man with the gun first. When I reached him he'd just began to raise it, and his whole hand came off in mine when I snatched it away from him. He screamed shrilly then his mind went silent as I wrapped one hand around his neck and snapped his spine like a matchstick.

The remaining thug held his hostage tightly against his body, holding the knife to her back once again and spewing obscenities and bravado at me in a pitiful attempt at intimidation. I gave the imbecile fifteen more seconds of life while I contemplated the best way to snatch the hostage away while simultaneously incapacitating the man. The last man's death was much too quick; his blood was already cooling and congealing in his body on the floor. I needed to feed from this one, after I dealt with the still aware innocent.

I decided to employ a strategy I didn't use often – especially in the presence of innocents – I spoke to him.

"Let her go and I'll end this quickly." It was the closest thing to a promise of mercy that he'd get from me, and even it was a lie.

He called my bluff, and began inserting the knife into the back of the terrified woman.

I didn't give him time to push it very far. Within a half a second I was upon him, and I twisted his neck so hard that his head dangled then fell from his shoulders.

In the same moment that I handed the evil man his death, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Something pale and quick flittered by the window I'd entered through less than a minute before, and it was gone before I could spare it a second glance. The speed with which it disappeared was proof enough for me that it was something of my nature.

Immediately the grisly scene in front of me moved to the back burner. An inhuman growl rolled out of my chest in warning to the being outside. I was equally protective of my kill and terrified that the vampire outside was one of my family – witnessing my ill-planned judgment.

I dropped the headless thug and took a step toward the window, never removing my eyes from the horrified woman.

Then I made the worst mistake of my ninety year existence – I inhaled.

Instead of gathering information on the presence outside, I completely forgot about it. I forgot about everything. My rules. My family. All of it.

The most delicious and tempting smell I'd ever experienced enveloped me, and I fell upon it, completely rabid in my need for it. When the taste hit my mouth I groaned, the pureness and sinfulness of it winding upon my tongue and entrancing me. My whole body shook as I partook in the sacrament.

As I fed, I saw the most beautiful pictures. I saw a quick childhood and an even quicker courtship. I saw a newborn child with its face scrunched up in a muted cry, its whole tiny body pink from the exertion. I saw more slides featuring the unconscious man on the floor. I saw other erotic scenes featuring other men.

And then I saw a doll - a perfect, porcelain doll with coffee brown eyes and shiny, barrel curls of chestnut hair. Her pale face was painted with exaggerated blush, and the little doll's lashes were thick and black and curled daintily toward her brow bone. Her little, cupid lips were pulled into a open and vacant smile, showing off tiny rabbit teeth.

The ambrosia in my mouth was thickening, and although I continued to pull hard I was rewarded with less and less satisfaction. The flashes of life began to slow as well, replaced by flickering feelings, remembered whispers of noise and the occasional smell. Just when I thought they would fade all together I got one more solid image – one that caused me to gasp and finally pull my stained mouth up from the young woman's neck.

A flash of the doll – thoroughly dashed and dirtied. I realized in that same second that the beautiful porcelain thing was never a doll at all. She was…is….a little girl. Once I had seen her face with no fake smile, her hair hanging in loose, natural curls down her back and the only sign of the dramatic makeup being the long smudges of black down her cheeks, I saw even more depth in her dark eyes. I saw too much age for her flawless, childlike face.

Then that picture was gone as well, and I found myself sitting in the middle of a macabre room, the only other noise being the raspy breathing of the male hostage and the sloshing of the blood pumping out his wound.

At the sound I turned back to the woman that I'd recently dropped onto the floor. She lay broken and drained beside her captor on the hardwood floor. Her innocent blood ran through my body, fueling me with more power and shame than I'd ever felt before.

I didn't make it to the family's estate that night.

In fact, I wouldn't face Carlisle Cullen or his clan again for six, long years.


	3. Compulsion

_**July 9th, 2000**_

_**Chapter Two – Compulsion**_

"JARACACA!" The name made me cringe, though I had no right to. In fact, as I looked down at the sodden ground below me I could think of many other names just as vile and fitting.

"Amana! Mba'érepa? Amana, ñuvâ che! Ayuda che!"

How could I have let this happen again? I dropped the dented body to lie at my feet and ran my dirty hands through my hair, trying to come to grips with the fact that I'd just ended another life – another innocent, unsuspecting life that deserved to roam this world much more that I did.

It's the second human life that I must take responsibility for since my greatest mistake.

The trembling, screaming woman finally raised up to her feet, launching herself on shaky legs into the deep green of the forest, her terrified voice ringing out around me. "JARACACA!" she continued to scream, warning her village and any other errant hunters that there was a monster – a true beast – in the jungle that afternoon.

But already I was running, leaving the body for the villagers to dispose of in their own, sacred ways. It's a mercy that I couldn't leave for the last family, or for the young woman who haunts my every moment, but as I'm already leaving a witness in my wake, what more could a brutalized body cost me? These natives will never see a camera, or a website, or a microphone…so surely their story won't reach all the way to Volterra? I figure that instead I will become the next tragic story around their campfire, passed on to their children to warn against the perils of wandering too close to the jungle at dusk.

Even if they had a direct line to Aro himself, I don't think I could have stayed. Since the massacre in Washington, I haven't had the stomach for the cleanup. At least before, when I was digging graves, I felt some since of accomplishment, dare I say – pride.

Now I felt nothing but shame. Now, the blood on my hands was even harder to wash off. It stained my skin, marked me as a destroyer and a thief of innocence. Because whether it was the animals I hunted or the humans that I just couldn't seem stay away from – I only fed from the innocent now.

When I could no longer smell the blood of my kill, when I'd ran far enough way that there were no voices to haunt me, I finally slowed. My shirt was bloody and torn. My pants seemed mostly intact, and luckily the phone in my right pocket survived the unscheduled hunt as well.

The phone had been delivered to the hotel room that I had begun renting about two weeks before. It was the first real residence I'd had in quite a while, and so far I hadn't spent much time there, but I kept it because I told myself that I needed a shower and access to a computer to take care of the banking and real estate transactions that I'd been ignoring now for years. There'd been no explanation with the phone either, of course, simply a small box sitting neatly in the middle of the bed that first night. When I found it I sighed and made the decision to thank Alice the next time I saw her. For the first time in a long time, I hoped she saw me.

I found a stream and washed the blood from around my mouth. The buttons on my shirt were torn off and I couldn't get the smells out of the loosely woven fabric, so I buried it under some rocks in the creek bed. I ran my hands through my hair a few dozen times, bent over at the waist and trying to get a hold on all the emotions running through me. Shame. Failure. The always present urge inside me. A yearning – for what I didn't know. The feeling was something I didn't understand, something that had taken root in me and grown large and heavy since the day I lost myself in that suburban drug den.

I'd lasted an entire nine months since the last time I'd slipped. Granted I'd mostly stayed in the jungle, away from any humans and nearly constantly hunting, just trying to slake the constant _need _within me. And while I had succeeded in gorging myself with animal blood, I had yet to be able to merge back into society. At this rate, I never would.

The truth that I'd been studiously ignoring for several months now was that I needed help. Switching from human blood to a sub-par substitute isn't easy, in fact it's considered downright impossible by most of my kind. I only know of one vampire who's ever abstained from human blood entirely of his own volition.

I haven't talked to Carlisle since before the incident in Port Angeles nearly six years ago. I had called him a few weeks before that fateful trip, letting him know that I'd be dropping in to see the new place in Forks. He'd been excited to hear from me, and Esme had insisted on taking the phone from him before the end of our conversation, letting me know that my room was just as I preferred it, and that she'd air it out before I arrived. Esme always set aside a place for me – for all of us - in each of their homes. She continued to do so long after I had struck out on my own. It was her way of letting us know we were always welcome.

I assumed that they knew what happened those few short years ago on the night that led to my prolonged absence. No one had called to check on my whereabouts afterward, or to ask why I never showed up at their home. Barring the occasional mysterious package from Alice, no one has tried to contact me since. I've always figured that one of them saw my actions through the window that night, how much they witnessed is really the question. Did they see only the deaths of the thugs before they flashed back into the forest, or did they stick around to watch the bigger failure of my 'rescue' of the young woman?

I wondered if my room still existed now - if it would still only require a quick airing out.

I couldn't even pretend not to care. Not to be hurt by the isolation of the last several years. Even if my family hadn't witnessed my crime firsthand, Alice had to have seen something about it. They had to know. Their responding silence echoed in my head.

I held the phone in my hand nervously, touching the screen to activate it and then locking it again, repeating the action several times. Even I knew that I was stalling, but the other option seemed so terrifying. I wasn't sure I could talk to him. Any of them.

Finally, I hung my head and let out and deep yet completely unnecessary sigh. I weighed the phone in my hand a moment more before I tapped the screen yet again and scrolled to the address book.

Only one number. No name. She didn't need to put one.

I sighed one more martyred breath out into the empty, echoing room, because I had a feeling that I wouldn't be allowed the indulgence of them much longer. Then I tapped the screen another single time, and held the phone up to my ear.

It rang once. Twice.

The line came alive and I heard the noise of the room on the other end of the connection. On the other end of the world.

Then his voice, relieved yet cautious.

"Edward?"

"Carlisle", I whispered, hating how soft and uneven my voice sounded even to my own ears. Without vampire hearing, there's no way he could have understood me over the boisterous hospital surrounding him.

"Son, are you OK? Where are you?"

I waited a beat too long to answer, and he tried again, "Edward, son, please tell me what's happened. Where are you?"

"I need help." I rasped into the phone. "Oh God, Carlisle, you can never imagine the things I've done. I thought I could control it, and I've tried to fight it. God, I tried to stop. It's so hard! I, I – I can't stop." I stuttered, pulling in another breath. "Carlisle, please – "

"Shh, Edward. It's alright. Everything will be fine. Of course we will help you. Just tell me where you are."

"I'm in the woods. But I have a hotel room. In Saquena. Alice knows, she sent me this phone."

"Alice knows." Carlisle mused, almost to himself. "Alright, I'll meet you there. Do you feel capable of meeting me at the hotel, or would you rather stay in the forest?"

We both know what he meant with his question.

"I think I can meet you there." I don't elaborate on why – on how I'm full enough to control my need with the fresh blood in my body.

"Good. I'll be there soon. Hopefully Alice _knows_ enough about the situation to already be working on travel plans." The sudden annoyance in his voice is surprising.

"OK", I whisper again.

"Alright then, I'll call when I have my flight details. Just hang on for a bit longer Edward. I, I'm so glad you called, son. I can't wait to see you."

"You too", I breathed, and then finally ended the call.

I dropped the phone into my lap and settled my hands against my scalp, resting my face in my open palms.

I tried to enjoy the silence that surrounded me, that's haunted me, for another few minutes, and think about the consequences of the choice that I've just made.

I wonder what it will be like to be a Cullen once again.


	4. Aggravation

_**February 4th, 2001**_

**Chapter Three – Aggravation**

The woods are different here – much better here in my opinion. They're a little sparser, and the ground is clearer so there's room to zig and zag through the foliage without the risk of catching your foot or shoulder on a vine or two and ripping up a few yards of the forest floor.

I know that its ironic that I'm hiding in the forest once again, trying to find some space from the family that I had practically begged to be a part of six months ago. They – we - were settled in Alaska now, all seven of us, and to my understanding there was another neighboring clan not far away, but I had yet to meet any of them.

But the truth is that I'm out here because I'm frustrated, and I'm angry with all of them and they know it and I know it so there's really no reason to talk about it any further.

I know that they're not going to tell me. And they know that I know that they're hiding something.

And so here we are – at a stalemate.

This has not turned out like I thought it would at all. I guess I thought they would turn me away at the door, honestly, but of course the Cullens have more class than all that.

As always I was greeted with hugs and handshakes, declarations of joy that I'd be staying while Esme casually herded our little party into the family room. Of course my room was still there, I wasn't surprised that this particular tradition had survived. Carlisle seemed happy with the welcoming party, but kept his hand on my shoulder for the first several minutes, either to offer comfort or to try to keep me in the room. I offered basic greetings and chit-chat, but I think Carlisle could see that my heart wasn't in it. In reality, I was still trying to process how familiar this scene was - how many times I'd witnessed it when returning to the Cullen Estate for holidays or when I'd been informed of new members that had joined the clan.

It was like nothing had changed. Like nothing had happened. Like it hadn't been over six years since I'd heard a word from any of them.

Alice was the last to greet me, jumping into my arms and wrapping her short little legs around me. I couldn't help but chuckle as I listened to the diatribe that was pouring out of her mouth at inhuman speed.

Behind the words she was saying, where I could usually hear the other – entirely different – diatribe of her inner thoughts, I found something odd. Names of shoe designers, some old, some dead, some not yet discovered, they all ran through her head with corresponding snapshots of pieces of all their work. The train of thought was disturbing in its monotony, and I raised my eyebrow at her and asked, "Are you OK, Alice?"

"What? Yes, of course! But you know how I get when I'm excited, I just can't keep a lid on it! There's so much to discuss now, you'll need new clothes and a new driver's license and maybe later we can tell you all about how we go to school a – "

"Alice, wait!" I stopped her. I was going to ask her what was happening in her head but quickly realized how rude that sounded, so hesitated for a moment, looked to Carlisle, and then it hit me.

For the last few days of travel, Carlisle had become more distant around me. He was still as friendly as ever, but he asked only a few vague questions about where I'd been and why I finally decided to call him the way that I did. At first I was grateful, but when conversation failed to progress much further, I couldn't help but notice how sad he seemed around me, how he seemed almost closed off. I knew then that Alice must have told him what had happened to bring me to finally call him. He must be exasperated with me at the very least. His sadness was harder to decipher, so I delved into his mind a bit deeper and realized he was concentrating very intently on a stream of sermons. Words from priests and reverends all over the world ran through his mind, one after the other, in languages both modern and forgotten.

At first I almost asked him why he was doing it, but I knew that it must be to keep me out, and the truth is it was working very well so far. I was a bit hurt, because after living with my gift for over eighty years I feel a bit of entitlement when it comes to reading other's thoughts. But Carlisle was a good man and had always treated me with respect, so there must be another reason that he's closed himself off to me, right? Maybe to protect me?

Another thought hit me and I slumped down into the passenger seat of the rental car – maybe he thought it best that I didn't know what he thought about me.

So I had let it go and we listened in silence as he remembered the retelling of a dream quest from a Shamen that he'd met nearly two hundred years prior.

I had let the diversion go before, but now – faced with two family members actively trying to keep me out of their heads, I was distinctly suspicious. I stared at Carlisle, hoping that he would be able to read _my _mind, and tell me what all this shielding was about. When he stayed silent, I finally turned back to Alice and stated, "You're hiding something."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm not. Now come on, let's take your stuff up to the room that you'll be staying in and then maybe afterwards we can go explore the hunting territory around here."

She kept talking, but I tried to tune her out. It was obvious to me that the others didn't know anything about Alice and Carlisle's deception, they only stared at me, slightly confused by my outburst, blaming it mostly on the 'lifestyle' I'd been living.

Jasper must haves felt the nervousness that they were both displaying, and he damn sure must have felt my confusion and wariness. But he didn't say anything at all, choosing instead to trust in his wife.

Only Esme looked concerned, furrowing her brow as she stared along with me at Carlisle. She reassured herself that the next time she was alone with her mate, she would find out what was going on.

I escaped from the family room as soon as I could after that, to the comfort of my dark and cool bedroom, filled with all the things that I had collected in my first decade of this life. I ran my fingers along the CDs that someone had eventually created from the gramophone records that I started with, and which were still housed in traveling boxes that lined one side of the closet space. I fingered through to sheet music left out artistically on the music rack of the piano in front of the windows. Eventually I meandered to the stereo system and found Ibert.

As Sarabande pour Dulcinée poured into the room that night I sat on my black leather couch and closed my eyes. I tried to find the strength to temper the internal voices that still grated heavily in my ears.

Today was one of the worst days since that day, the day that I arrived. After all, in my eighty years of the life I've never yelled at Carlisle before. But I couldn't help it – couldn't stop it because the alternative was yelling at the person that I was truly angry at, which was Esme. I think Carlisle knew that, so he took my lashings with stoic sadness. But really, what else would one expect of Carlisle Cullen?

It had taken Esme months to crack Carlisle's secret, and when she did I thought that I would finally get to know what was so damned important to Alice and my father. Esme and I had practically agreed on it.

But when that day came – today – well it did not go as I thought it would either. As soon as they walked into the room together, it was obvious that he'd told her. He was guilty, and she bombarded me with something I was not at all prepared to hear.

A list of flowers, Latin names of course, alphabetical and only just beginning, chanting out _Adenophora liliifolia__v _as she emerged into the room. Immediately I was angry, and I felt betrayed.

"Really, Esme?" I said, seething. I tried to keep my anger under control but this had been my best hope of figuring out this puzzle. At first I had only been annoyed, but now it went much further than that. Now I was not only resentful, but I also felt deeply wounded by the people in my life who meant the most to me. Carlisle was my sire – my father – the man I emulated, aspired to be. Esme was viewed as a mother by the rest of the group, but to me she always seemed more like a sister. I was still rather new to this life when Esme joined us, and she's the only one of the Cullens other than Carlisle that I'd ever lived with before. When Esme was first turned, she and I spent a great deal of time together, and while I know that I hurt her when I struck out on my own, not even saying goodbye before I took a train to Chicago, I thought I could at least count on her to tell me truth when I asked it of her.

"Now son, calm down." _**She is important to you, I know that you don't want to hurt her.**_ Carlisle's thoughts implored me to accept this. To trust him.

Instead I turned on him. "No! I'm so damned tired of this! What's changed? What do you know that is so bad that you can't let me see it? It's about me, isn't it?"

Carlisle sighed and looked to Alice, who nodded somberly before turning to face me once more.

"I know that you are frustrated Edward, and I wish that I could explain all of this to you, but I have to be very careful." The statement infuriated me even more. Carlisle hesitated, seeming to weigh his next words heavily. It was all that I could do to wait for him to speak again.

"You aren't ready to hear the things that I know. The things that Alice has seen. You're right. It is about you, but you just have to believe me when I say that you can't know any more than that right now. You have to trust me, son. You have to believe that I want what is best for you, and that we wouldn't hide something like this from you without very good reason."

Esme was nodding her head beside him. But I was still angry.

"No! You don't get to make that decision for me. Just tell me what it is. Tell me what's going to happen to me! I swear to God, Carlisle, you better tell me right now!" I was scared and so, so angry. Even more infuriating is that even with all these feelings of betrayal and anger coursing through me I still felt just as empty as I ever did before. Nothing was any different here.

I picked up a flower vase sitting on the table, and threw it against the wall with all my strength. It practically disintegrated and left a nasty gouge in the dry wall. Esme flinched and Carlisle pulled her closer, still watching me with a mixture of guilt and fear on his face. Esme leaned into his side, as if I'd thrown the vase _at _her.

I saw myself in their minds eye, and the look on my face was one of fury. My entire body, from my fists to my jaw, was clenched, and my back was slightly bent. My breathing was heavy. Even though it had been six months, my eyes were still not the same as the others. The red was fading, but right now my eyes were a muddy orange color, like the color of dried blood spread thin on a microscope slide.

And so I'd left, ran into the forest where the animals were the only ones to judge me. And at least I couldn't hear their thoughts. Their condemnations. Their half-truths and ramblings.

On the edge of my mental range, I heard the tinkling song of Alice's singing voice. She was humming and muttering to herself, some top forty song that I couldn't even bother to try to identify. It was her way of signaling her approach to me, though why she was bothering with courtesy in this area when she was so lacking in others was beyond me. I waited on her approach with animosity, only sticking around so I could spew the remaining vitriol I have left in me after my spat with Carlisle.

When she finally begins to climb the hill on which I'm sitting, she begins her apologies, at first only mentally but also out loud once she's drawn herself up to sit beside me on the fallen tree trunk.

I wished that it was anyone but her. The one who had started all this, who saw things and made decisions without even explaining anything to the rest of us. I sat rigidly on the trunk and waited for her to get her blathering out of her system. When I thought she was almost done, I nodded my head and started to get up to get the hell away from her.

She grabbed me, pulling me back down beside her. I yanked my arm from her grip, eyeing her critically, and hissed at her, "What the fuck is the matter with you, Alice? Look, I sat here and listened to your self-centered apology, so what else do you want? Is there something else that you want to hint about and then refuse to tell me?"

"You know that's not how it is, Edward. You know that I love you."

"Stop it. Don't say that again. I can't understand why you're doing this to me Alice. I thought you trusted me."

She just looked down at the floor. Alice and I have been confidants for years, and if you would have asked me I'd have listed Alice as my best friend. She was the only one of my faux-siblings that I had much of a connection to at all. While we all considered Carlisle to be our father of sorts, I didn't consider the others to be my real family, after all, I'd never lived with them or spent extended periods of time with any of them save Esme and Alice. But Alice and I had always had a connection. We could have conversations without saying anything, and over the years we'd shared many silent laughs, hidden underneath the more boisterous voices of the rest of the Cullen clan.

Seeing Alice sit on the log, so quite and defeated, made me feel guilty and before long my anger was transforming yet again, falling into that deep, dark hole that I seemed to carry along with me in my chest. I realize that I've began to equate the throbbing need within me with this secret – that somehow knowing one with solve the other. I couldn't contemplate living with this gnawing pain forever; I had to convince myself that there was an end to this.

"Please, Alice." I begged one more time, expecting her to shut me down once again.

"Fine. But just a little. I can't show you too much. You have to trust that." I was surprised, but I pulled myself together in time to witness the short snippet of a vision that Alice showed me. Just a quick close up of my head and shoulders, my lips stretched wide with a smile that looked so foreign on my face that I almost didn't recognize myself. Even odder was the look in my eyes, something that I couldn't identify. It seemed soft and content, but instead of being instead of making me feel peaceful like the Edward in the vision seemed, it just made the constant need in me flare up to a near unbearable level.

"What was that?" I snapped, still reeling a bit from the burst of pain, rubbing my chest with my hand in an effort to soothe it. I guess I already knew that the point of her vision was to show me that whatever this big secret was, it would end up making me happy, at least for a while.

What I wanted to know was the price of that happiness - the duration of it. If my time on this earth had taught me anything, it was that everything comes with a price.

"Well?" I tried again when she didn't answer. "That doesn't prove anything without context, Alice. What does it mean?"

"I'm sorry, Edward. That's all you can see for now. I can't show you anything else."

And so now here we were again, back to the lying by omission. Back to the loaded silence.

"This vision, does it have anything to do with what happened six years ago? Does it also explain why no one called?"

Still Alice said nothing.

"Was it one of you…at the window?" My voice was soft, but filled with pain. Even if they didn't know, she'd surely know for sure now.

She stood and walked slowly to the window. I sighed at first, but slowly the white noise in her head (she had ran out of shoe designers days ago and had now moved on to reciting all Vogue magazines front to back, including all the ads, which ad always been her favorite part. It was so much worse than the shoe designers.)

"It was me." Her voice was barely as loud as my own.

Now it was I who was silent.

"Six months ago I had a vision of you with the Volturi. You were standing in their throne room, with a guard close to both of your sides. Aro told you that you had a choice. Become a member of the guard or die. That was the end of the vision, as that decision couln't possibly be made yet.

"Nearly two hours later you called to tell Carlisle that you were on your way to see us. I was sure that whenever you decided to come to see us, your fate was sealed with the Volturi. So I came to the airport meet you but you must not have flown like you planned. You never arrived."

"I didn't fly." I choked out.

"Well, you headed to Port Angeles, and by the time that I had a vision that let me see that, you were already there. I tried to hurry, but by the time I arrived you were already inside. I was scouring the neighborhood for the house when I heard the gunshot. All those damn houses look the same, you know? I barely got to the window in time to see you kill the second man. I knew that the woman was the reason you would be identified, and I planned to kill her myself if I couldn't stop you in time. I ran past the window towards the basement door and when you spotted me…well, everything changed."

"What changed?" I asked.

But she only sighed. "I can't tell you anymore, Edward. I shouldn't have told you as much as I did. They'll be consequences for that I'm sure."

"Fuck, Alice. Are you serious? Well can you at least tell me why you never came inside? Why none of you ever asked me what happened?"

"I told Carlisle what happened, the rest don't know."

"Now Esme knows," I pointed out accusingly.

"Yes, I suppose you're right about that."

The silence sat heavily on us as we both absorbed what had been said, and what hadn't. Eventually Alice breaks the silence. "Carlisle agreed with me after you never showed up at the house afterwards, he said it was a sign that you would rather be left to process what happened alone.

"We didn't call you because it was obvious that you wouldn't be ready to face us. I knew that you would want time."

I scoffed at that. "Bullshit. You didn't want me around because you wanted to keep your secret, and it was a lot easier to do when I was avoiding you all. You think that your visions give you some sort of power over us, Alice, but they don't. You shouldn't get to decide what path I take in life."

She merely nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Does Carlisle know about the vision you had at the house? The one that 'changed everything'"? I sneered my words at her, putting air quotes around the last two.

"Yes, he knows. Though I didn't tell him until a few years ago. Whenever I was sure."

"Sure of what?"

Another sigh. "You know I can't tell you that, Edward."

"Fuck this!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the log and standing up abruptly. "I can't take this anymore, Alice. You must know what this is doing to me. And if you do, then surely you must understand that I can't take much more of this. What could be so important that you would put your brother through this?"

Alice sniffled, and rubbed her nose in a habit left over from her human days. She only shook her head.

"I'm out of here." I snapped, and started to walk off into the wilderness. I didn't walk toward the cabin, and I knew that Alice had seen my intentions when I heard the slight gasp that passed between her lips.

_**You can't go. Please don't go.**_

Her thoughts begged me to stop but I continued to tramp through the forest, leaving her sitting on the fallen log with her elbows resting on her thighs. I'd decided that I'd had enough of this secrecy, this subservience, all of it. I needed to run. I needed to get away from the hole in my chest that was threatening to engulf me - All of us.__

"I've watched for you. Ever since I met you, I've kept an eye on you. And when I could, I always tried to help you. I hope that someday you will see that."

I snorted and kept walking. "I wish you would stop helping." I snapped back to her. The walls she had carefully built were beginning to crumble, and on page 147 of Italian Vogue Volume 14 Issue 8, her internal monologue began to stutter. I got a few hazy flashes of the vision when a vision suddenly consumed her, which I devoured hungrily in the hope that it will give me some hint as to what this huge, detrimental secret really is. But again I only see my own face, and my eyes are scarlet red again. I'm still angry.

I see Alice make a decision then. It's immediately obvious that it's a last ditch effort; whatever flimsy plan she had hobbled together did not include this scenario. But she was desperate, and it was that vulnerability that allowed me to snake my way into her head and see the indecision and dread inside of her. With her decision made, she bolstered up her defenses, resuming the flawless Italian monologue about acceptable work skirts in the spring, and she stood up from the log, knowing that I'd turn to face her.

I did.

"I know about the girl." She said resolutely, and for a moment I'm confused. Of course she knew about the innocent life that I took. Hadn't she already admitted to as much? I opened my mouth but no words came out, because in that moment I heard Alice say something to me in her mind that was terrifying enough to leave my jaw open and slack.

Alice's next thought caused a chill to run up my spine, but even more curious than that was the way in which the heavy weight on my chest seemed to pulse when I heard it.

_**I know about the doll, Edward.**_

It's impossible.


	5. Diagnosis

_**Chapter Four – Diagnosis**_

"What? Wha – why would you say that?" I stuttered. All the anger that had been fueling my body moments before leaked out onto the forest floor and I was left standing unsteadily.

My mind raced, trying to figure out exactly _how _Alice could know about the doll. How could she know about something that I've only seen in the mind of a dying woman? No, there's no way she could know about that, and eventually I began to realize that she was referring to a different doll, but one that was not so very different after all. And definitely still humiliating.

You see, regardless of the trust issues that I'd suffered when it came to the Cullen's, I had indeed become more comfortable around humans after only a few short months with them; it was becoming easier and easier to ignore the scent of my natural prey's blood. And so on an overcast Tuesday afternoon several weeks ago Alice had talked me in to accompanying her and Jasper to an outlet mall a few miles from town. After wading through the scents and thoughts of humans for several hours, I eventually escaped to the wooden deck that served as the sidewalk to the stores. I walked unhurriedly for several minutes, until I saw something in a display at a high-end toy store that made me stop in my tracks and stare unabashedly.

I beautiful bisque doll, like the ones my female schoolmates used to carry around after their lessons. I think that my mother had a few of them, perched on top of a bureau, but I couldn't be sure, and I remember wondering what ever happened to those dusty, fragile figurines.

This doll had brown glass eyes, and brown barrel curls. Her lips were small and bowed, a rosy shade of pink, and the apples of her cheeks were colored with a blooming blush to match. The dress was of traditional Edwardian fashion, an understated blue stripe pattern.

The doll's distant eyes were empty - and that too, sadly - made me remember the child that I'd seen in the woman's mind.

When I thought back to the woman, it made me think of the blood-covered den, which in turn made me want to wretch. I also thought back to the last vision of the little girl, the one that the woman I killed took with her into the afterlife. That was, after all, when I realized that her dead eyes didn't necessarily mean that she was merely a doll, just that she was empty like one.

Suddenly I felt sick with myself for standing outside of this toy store, staring at this little girl's toy, unable to step away from the achingly familiar doll in the window.

"What are ya lookin' at?" Jasper drawled directly behind me. Somehow he had snuck up on me, and his voice startled me. My back seemed to stretch straighter in his presence, and my eyes left the doll and instead settled on an intricate train set that took up most of the window space. I could read in his thoughts that despite my attempts at diversion, he was looking at the doll now. He thought it looked expensive, but he didn't see the true beauty in it. His eyes deftly wondered to me again, and he thought about the way that I had been staring at the doll, with waves of humility and guilt pouring off of me. In an errant thought, he wondered if _this _was what had happened all those years ago.

"No." I snapped, practically spitting the word out at him as I turned and began walking to the car, knocking my shoulder with his as I passed. "I didn't kill a fucking little girl." I answered to his unasked question, and just then he seemed to remember that I could hear all those thoughts running his cornhusk-colored head.

"Shit, man. I'm sorry. You know I didn't really think you would do that. It was just a passing thought. It's just, the way that you stared at that doll man, it's – "

"I know." I said, and I guess I did know how fucked up it seemed, but I definitely wasn't ready to discuss it with Jasper so I headed out to the parking lot, where Alice and Jasper joined me not long after. The ride home was quiet, and I wondered the entire way if Jasper had already spilled the beans to Alice, and what she thought of my explosive reaction to his half-formed accusation.

Jasper may have not spilled the beans right away, but eventually he must have, because now here stands Alice, claiming to know about what happened that day and probably bubbling with ideas about what it means and what she can do to meddle in it.

"I wish Jasper hadn't told you, Alice." I eventually offer her after a while. "But I guess I'm not surprised that he did."

_**Jasper knows?**_

That thought made me truly look at her, and she's merely staring at my inquisitively, waiting on my answer.

"He didn't tell you?"

_**No. Well, yes. He told me about the day at the outlet mall. But you know that's not what I mean. I mean the girl, Edward. I know about Bella.**_

"Who?" At the sound of that name, even in my head, my insides began to shudder. Once again the weight on my chest seemed to tilt and move, readjusting in the ways that it pushed on me.

_**Damn. That wasn't exactly how that should have went. But I guess it's too late now. Bella is her name, Edward. It's the girl's name. Her mother's name was Renee.**_

"How do you know all this?" I asked, trying to hold on to the anger that was the rope that I was holding on to so I didn't fall directly into this rabbit hole.

_**I see her now. In my visions.**_

"Why?" I asked again, for seemed like the hundredth time that day. Shouldn't being a mind reader make me privy to the 'why's' of most situations? Lately, it seemed like my power was useless, and that made me more antsy than I care to admit. A moment later I realized there was an even more pertinent question, "How do you know who she is? How do you even know about her?

Instead of answering me directly, she replayed a memory in her mind. She had just left the house that day six years ago – left me – and drove her car quickly around the winding roads, heading back towards Forks. Thank God for vampire reflexes, because as she came into a rather sharp curve she was hit with a vision. A small girl sprawled out in a tiny little bed, the pink room still lit up with the light from a rather bright desk lamp. Despite the glaring light, the little girl, _Bella, _was sleeping deeply. Her tiny hands were gripping on to the blanket, which only covered her top half, her pajama-covered legs sticking out haphazardly from her Aladdin bedding. Her face was so peaceful, tranquil even, and in the hall there was pacing, accompanied by a voice that did not match her relaxed state at all.

"No, she still hasn't come home." The voice in the hall stated, sounding patronizing and impatient. "Why do you think I'm calling you? Look, I don't care about what she was really doing today; just tell me if you've heard from her, OK? Let me know she's alright?"

The voice in the hall was silent for a moment, and Bella slept on, her breathing moving her delicate torso up and back down, her hands twisting unconsciously into the cotton comforter.

"Fine. Well call me if you hear from her? OK, thanks." Another pause. "No, I have to call Pauline." A sigh. "Yeah, you too."

Alice's vision stopped there, and so did her memory of it. She looked at me imploringly and said, "I pretty much put it together after that first vision, and I've had visions of her sporadically since then."

"Well stop." I said, suddenly petrified. I'd already taken from that little one things that I could never repay or replace, her own mother for God's sake. She shouldn't have to be involved in this world. I shouldn't have to be reminded of my crime every single day. It was the most unfair option for both of us.

But Alice just looked at me as if she pitied me a bit. Her thoughts were resigned. _**You know I can't control it like that.**_

And I did know it, but I still wished that she would try.

A horrible thought hit me then. If Alice was consistently seeing this girl, then that means that she was involved with our family in some way. And Carlisle had already admitted that whatever this 'change' was that Alice has seen had to do with me. Bella is the change.

"No. Alice, we can't be involved with her. I won't allow it. She deserves a normal life, and nothing about any of is normal."

What I didn't say was that even as the words were coming out of my mouth, that big heavy hole that I carry around seemed to grow larger and heavier by the second. By the end of my last sentence, I was almost sure that Alice could see it, concaving in my breastbone under its enormous weight.

"I've got to go." I said after another weighted moment. I needed to run; I needed this conversation and its heaviness behind me. It occurred to me that everything in my life since that night could be described by that one word – heaviness.

I hoped that once I began running I could leave it behind, but the gnawing dread that nagged at me disagreed. But I knew that I had to do something, because standing here hearing these things would surely drive me insane.

_**Edward, wait! **_She sounded so desperate, so I turned to her. I'd always had a soft spot for Alice, but I didn't know how much longer that would last if she kept meddling in my life like this. _**She's staying with her father now. He doesn't have a lot, and his health hasn't been that great and well…I'm going to give them money. You can't stop me from doing that.**_

That took the wind out of my sails of course, and while I wanted to tell her not to interfere, but both she and I already knew that I wouldn't do that now. That little girl's misfortune rested firmly on my shoulders, a heavy cross to bear. And providing for her in this way was really the only way someone like me could help someone like her.

"No," I finally said, and Alice looked up at me, surprised by my answer. "No Alice, I'll send the money to her father myself, discreetly of course."

Alice nodded her head and thought, _**Thank you Edward. I know it's painful to think about her but what you are doing is the right thing. Now, let's go back to the house together, OK? Please don't push us away again.**_

But I think that she already knew that I couldn't return to the house just yet. I definitely wasn't ready to face Carlisle or Esme, and after the bombshells that Alice had just dropped on me, I wasn't sure when I would be ready to face everyone again. I had a lot of running to do before I could be ready for that, and lot of ground to cover if I wanted to escape this tremendous weight that I was struggling under. So I simply shook my head and then laid my hand on her shoulder for a moment, before taking off toward the foggy mountains.

We also both knew that I would return to the house eventually, as I had arranging to do and paperwork to file if I wanted to get this money to her father in a way that he would accept without asking many questions. Already my brain spun with legal forms and estate law, figuring out the best way to approach this new task.

But even what would become my new obsession could not stop a small part of me from thinking about the things that I'd learned about the doll-like girl. Bella. Even her name caused the guilt in me to spiral.

I wasn't ready to admit it to anyone yet, but the thought of Bella having things that I had bought for her, knowing that I was going to provide at least some mediocre of comfort to her, also offered me a bit of comfort. It made my chest feel a bit lighter.

I ran, carrying a slightly smaller load with me as I vaulted up the mountainside.


End file.
